


Do You Confess

by pepperlandgirl4



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8254810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperlandgirl4/pseuds/pepperlandgirl4
Summary: Written response to this  prompt. Story goes AU during The Witchfinder. After Aredian forces the confession from Gaius, he's determined to get one from Merlin as well. Arthur comes to his rescue. (~12,000 words)Warning: Serious, explicit torture, graphic violence, and nonconsenual sex. Also, some serious comfort to go along with the hurt and maybe some schmoop.





	1. Chapter 1

  
Aredian skipped right over the formalities this time, hauling Merlin into his chambers like one might drag a misbehaving puppy from the remains of a shoe. Merlin protested, the words spilling out of him even though he knew he needed to _shut up_. He asked for Arthur again and again, hoping that Arthur knew he was under Aredian’s custody once again, but fearing that Arthur had authorized the guards to burst into Merlin’s room and pluck him from his bed. Merlin’s stomach had been knotted since Aredian’s arrival, and now there were thorns lining his chest from his throat to his abdomen, tearing at him every time he swallowed. 

“I know you’re a sorcerer,” Aredian said in that conversational way of his. Did it ever work? Did his victims ever forget where they were, who they were with, and fall into a confession because he just seems so casual and pleasant? “Gaius told me.” 

“You’re a liar,” Merlin said with every ounce of hatred he had in his thin body. He spat the words, wishing they were a curse. Perhaps Aredian understood Merlin’s true desires, because he just offered a slow, pleasant, terrifying smile. 

“You’re going to confess before the night is over. And then tomorrow, we’ll have a glorious fire for all of Camelot to see.” Aredian pulled him close, his fingers bunched up in Merlin’s shirt. “I am sure King Uther will be very pleased with his…surprise.” 

Merlin’s eyes widened, and Aredian chuckled. “That’s right, my little warlock. I’m acting of my own volition. As far as Prince Arthur knows, his manservant is safely tucked away to bed. Now then, where should we begin?” 

Merlin clenched his fists at his side, focusing on the sting of his nails sinking into his palm. It would be so easy to kill him. He knew spells that would end Aredian’s life in an instant, but he didn’t even need the words of the Old Religion. He could summon death with a mere gesture of his fingers. But the act of saving himself would condemn him, either to the pyre at dawn or to self-imposed exile. He didn’t care what Aredian did to him, it would not be enough to force him from Arthur’s side and their shared destiny. He could face the horrors Aredian unleashed and _survive_ them—the alternative wasn’t an option. 

To Merlin’s surprise, Aredian pushed him towards the bed. Merlin tried to resist at first, tensing his body and planting his feet on the floor. But Aredian was larger than him and much stronger. He pinched the fleshy part of Merlin’s ear and pulled until he had no choice but to follow. As soon as Aredian had him on the mattress, he leaned over and shackled Merlin’s wrist in place. Then the other. The chains were heavy, like the ones used on him in the dungeon, and Merlin’s wrists ached under the weight of them. Aredian had foot shackles as well, and within seconds he was immobilized and spread-eagle. 

“This is not going to be any fun with clothes,” Aredian said, almost to himself. He produced a long knife from somewhere—his jacket? Under the bed? Magic?—and slid the tip from Merlin’s throat to his breeches, cutting a thin line through the material of his shirt. He ripped it away with one large hand, tossing it aside with utter indifference, his eyes locked on Merlin’s half-naked form. 

Merlin didn’t fidget. He didn’t twitch. He gave absolutely no indication that he felt the weight of Aredian’s gaze traveling over his body, taking him in an inch at a time. It was almost like a caress from oily fingers—he barely felt it but it lingered. He had never felt so small in his life. 

Aredian untied Merlin’s scarf and wrapped his fingers around it thoughtfully, rolling it into something long and thin. “I wonder what I should use this for. If I use it as a gag…” He hooked his finger around Merlin’s bottom lip and forced his mouth open, “then I won’t hear when you’re ready to confess. And I do like the way it looks…wrapped around your throat.” 

He slid it under Merlin’s neck and then tied it in an easy slip knot. He pulled on one end, tightening it until Merlin couldn’t swallow. Another tug, and his air stopped flowing. Merlin opened his mouth, gasping for breath, but no matter how he struggled to pull it into his lungs, he couldn’t. His throat burned, the pressure increasing incrementally until his vision began to swim, dark spots drifting in the corner of his eyes. When he tried to turn away, Aredian caught him by the chin and forced him to hold still. But he wasn’t afraid. Aredian wasn’t going to go to all this trouble just to choke him to death without a confession. 

The pressure suddenly disappeared and Merlin was free to swallow a painful breath, his throat burning. Aredian watched him as he shuddered and gasped, and gave a small, satisfied nod. “Yes, I think we’ll keep that silly scarf right where it belongs.” 

Aredian used his knife to cut through Merlin’s laces, the tip pushing a little too hard through the breeches, and Merlin stopped himself from jerking at the tiny prick of pain against his thigh. The trousers suffered the same fate as his shirt, cut from his limbs until he was completely naked except for the chains and the kerchief. Aredian wasn’t drooling over him, and his eyes never lost their slightly sleepy, slightly interested shape, but he still reminded Merlin of a wolf. A very old, very patient one, who knew all the tricks. 

“Let me show you what I have arranged for us tonight.” 

As Merlin watched him unpack his various bags onto the unused side of the bed, he realized that this was the worst part of the night. Whatever he used those heavy tools for would be horrible—there was absolutely no doubt about that—but not as horrible as what he was doing at that moment. He was so slow, methodical. Like he had an eternity to demonstrate how to best use each one. He was a man without concern of consequence. Righteous and unhurried, because he knew that nobody would be interrupting them. He had the support of the king (and if he didn’t have Arthur’s support, he still had the protection of lies and ignorance). 

Aredian moved in short, precise gestures, and his fingers were long and sure. He handled each of the implements like an artist might handle a paintbrush, or the way Gaius handled his quill when he was writing out labels and instructions. They weren’t just tools to him. They weren’t just a means to an end. He handled them with real affection, his callused fingers running over the sharp points and dull edges in a parody of a lover’s caress. He named each one as he set it on the mattress, explaining what it was used for. Merlin was sure he’d be able to detail exactly when and where he found it, the first time he used it, and the details of every time thereafter. 

By the time he finished, Merlin’s stomach was a hot puddle of fear and his skin and hair was damp with sweat, despite the fact that the window was open and a breeze was moving through the room. Moisture gathered in the corner of his eyes—it could have been sweat or tears—and he blinked rapidly to get rid of the sting. Aredian’s sharp eyes didn’t miss that, and he merely grinned. Like he knew some great joke that Merlin was too young to understand. 

“I wonder what it will take to break this body,” Aredian asked, almost absently. Merlin knew that tone. Arthur had something like it when something sat heavily on his mind and he hardly remembered Merlin was even present. The thought of his prince made Merlin’s heart clench, but he didn’t push the thought away. He clung to it because it was all he had left. _I’m not going to leave your side, Arthur. No matter what he does. I don’t care what he does to me. It doesn’t matter. We have great things to do._

Aredian bypassed most of the truly gruesome tools in favor of a thin strip of leather. At first, it seemed an entirely innocuous thing. It looked like it had been cut off the hem of a pair of trousers, and until the light caught it just right, Merlin thought it was nothing but a strip of leather. Then he saw a dull gleam and he didn’t _want_ to see it. He didn’t _want_ to know. But he couldn’t look away. The leather was studded with short, sharp nails. They might have been specially made for this purpose, as they were far too short to be useful for anything. The sharp tips were barely visible above the leather, but they looked vicious enough to strip flesh from bone. Merlin tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry and his throat was too sore. 

“Merlin, do you wish to confess to sorcery?” 

“No.” 

Aredian was already moving before Merlin responded, wrapping the thin band of leather around the base of his cock. He secured it in place by forcing the leather through the other side of the strap, and Merlin almost immediately felt warm strings of blood pooling around the nails and sliding down, between his legs to pool on the sheet. White-hot pain radiated from every place sharp iron met skin, creating a throbbing ache that eclipsed any pain Merlin had ever known. 

“If you confess, I’ll remove the nails.” 

“No,” Merlin gasped. Though he was beginning to understand the elegant simplicity of the witchfinder’s techniques. 

“I was hoping you would say that, Merlin. You’re just like Gaius. So cooperative.” His hand hovered over the various objects, moving back and forth over them like he was administering a blessing. Finally, he chose a whip. One that was slightly smaller than what the guards used for public floggings, but no less frightening. As he watched Aredian test its weight and adjust his grip, he was struck with the sudden certainty that he was _not_ going to live through this interrogation. In that case, would it be so horrible to confess? If he did, he might get to see Arthur one last time. 

Arthur, looking at him with disgust and contempt. Arthur, betrayed and angry. Arthur, arms folded, jaw set, his father’s son through and through. Merlin knew that really wasn’t who Arthur was, and he believed that Arthur would not sentence him to death for his sorcery, but these weren’t normal circumstances. Blood and fear and passions were all running hot, and Merlin didn’t think he had the strength to withstand that. Torture, yes. But not Arthur’s anger. Never that. 

Aredian flicked his wrist in a fluid, thoughtless gesture. The whip landed across his thighs and was gone in an instant. Merlin gasped and bucked, but the movement was enough to make the nails gouge into his flesh. More hot blood flowed over his groin and down his thigh, and Merlin felt a new trickle where the whip had touched down. He didn’t dare look, but he could imagine the fine split of skin and flesh, a red stripe reaching across both legs. Aredian did it again, but this time, Merlin was careful not to move. It barely helped. The pain was exquisite and throbbing and sharp all at once. It climbed his body, claiming an inch at a time, winding around his limbs and embedding itself into his flesh. 

“Do you confess?” 

“No.” 

They echoed the words back to each other again and again until they seemed to lose their meaning. Merlin couldn’t think beyond the red fog in his brain. The only thing that mattered, the only image that stayed solid, was Arthur. So he said _no_ again and again for Arthur’s sake. His thighs had been split open again and again, and the flesh felt like it was nothing more than raw, broken meat. Merlin couldn’t look. He cried and ached, but he didn’t reveal himself and he didn’t beg. 

When Aredian grew tired of that, he reached for the kerchief again. It pulled tight with no warning at all, and then Merlin’s vision was darkening again. He reached weakly with his fingers, but the word faded and no matter how much he reached, he could find nothing to hold on to. 

“Do you confess to sorcery?” 

Weakly, distantly, Merlin shook his head. How many hours until dawn? How many hours did he need to withstand this? He had no reason to believe that dawn would bring his salvation. Aredian would tell Uther that Merlin’s lack of confession was a sure sign of guilt, twisting the entire night to paint Merlin into a corner with his own blood. But at least Aredian would be forced to stop at dawn, and even if he bodily flew Merlin into the fire, unless _this_ would be over. 

The pressure around his neck disappeared but Merlin took no pleasure or joy from drawing breath. He watched dully as Aredian pulled his gloves off. His jacket followed. He started talking again as he unlaced his pants, but Merlin didn’t put up the energy to understand the words. They were just meaningless sounds, washing over him, floating on the currents of pain moving through him. Whenever Aredian focused on him, Merlin shook his head automatically. Not for anything. He wouldn’t give Aredian the answer he wanted for anything. 

Aredian unwrapped the chains from around the bed posts and pulled them tighter until Merlin thought he would be torn apart at his hips, his legs ripped from their sockets. Blood flowed more freely, following the new line of his body and streaking down the back of his thighs and his ass. 

“Do you confess?” 

“No.” 

Aredian shifted, the shadows peeling away long enough to reveal the hard line of his cock. It jutted in front of him, the crown an angry red, the shaft thick. It looked more like a blunt weapon than anything, and Merlin realized that’s exactly what it was. 

“Prince Arthur keeps jumping to your defense. Defending you, a sorcerer in his own father’s court. Gaius is willing to _die_ for you. He thought it would protect you if he confessed. What is it about you, Merlin, that prompts such…devotion?” He said the word in an ugly voice, with an ugly sneer, and made it an ugly thing. “You don’t seem like much to me, boy.” 

Aredian crawled onto the bed, settling between Merlin’s splayed legs. He put one hand under his ass, forcing him up, which only pulled against the chains and increased the tension in his thighs. 

“But then I realized, you are quite…beautiful.” He caressed Merlin’s cheek. When Merlin flinched away, he only chuckled and reached for the scarf. He pulled it up, over Merlin’s chin, and forced it into his mouth. “I don’t want you to confess until I’m finished.” 

Merlin was beyond pain, beyond terror, beyond magic. Even if he could speak, he wouldn’t be able to form the words or focus the magic. Aredian used two fingers to collect the blood along Merlin’s thigh and slicked it over his cock. Merlin dropped his head back, staring pointedly at the ceiling, hot tears flowing freely down his cheeks. There was no chance at stopping Aredian, no hope of defense. He wasn’t just vulnerable, he was torn open. Helpless and chained and scared, Merlin forgot anything existed except pain and fear. 

The heat of Aredian’s cock pressed against his virgin hole was almost enough to burn. He closed his eyes tightly, his face screwing up in agony as Aredian pushed forward. He screamed for the first time as Aredian tore into him, but it wasn’t the pain that was hardest to deal with. It was the _connection_. The fact that he could _feel_ the other man was far worse—every shiver and shudder, the way his flesh throbbed, the tickle of his breath. His weight pressed Merlin to the mattress, and the nails around his cock dug deeper. Merlin’s body shook with weak sobs each time Aredian thrust forward, driving his length deeper into Merlin’s resisting channel. And he talked the whole time. Words Merlin didn’t understand. Threats he didn’t care about. Slurs against Arthur that Merlin couldn’t even parse. 

“God, boy, you’re so good. It’s a shame to let a good thing go to waste. Confess now, and I’ll spare you.” 

Merlin narrowed his eyes and grunted. Aredian smiled and pulled the gag from his mouth. As soon as Merlin could make his tongue form the words, he spat, “Fuck you.” 

Aredian drew his hand back and slapped Merlin with enough force to make his ear ring. The taste of copper exploded on his tongue, and he could feel the blush rush to the place of impact. The bruise would be spectacular. Providing he lived long enough for it to bruise. The sound of skin hitting skin was still echoing in Merlin’s ears when Aredian slapped him again. 

“I’m going to break you down, boy, until there’s nothing left _but_ a confession. I could have made it easy on you, like I made it on Gaius.” Aredian dropped his head so his mouth was only an inch from Merlin’s ear. “And I’ll make sure you’re the last thing he sees. I want him to look at you and _know_ everything that happened here tonight. I want him to see just how powerless he was to stop it.” 

Merlin’s ears were ringing, but he still heard it somehow. Below Aredian’s threats, in the distance, so far away it was almost unreal. The lock rattling. Could it be Arthur? Merlin didn’t know how likely it was, but he still clung to the thought like a drowning man clinging to a rope. 

#

“Arthur! Arthur!” Morgana had her skirts gathered in her hands and she ran through the court, her color high, her hair flying like a banner behind her. “Arthur!” 

Uther and Arther both stood, but it was Uther who reached for her. “Morgana, what is it?”

“Merlin.” 

Arthur tensed. “What about Merlin?” 

“It’s…Aredian. He…oh you have to help him.” She pulled free of Uther and grabbed Arthur’s arm. “Come on.” 

“Wait. Why does Aredian have Merlin? Gaius confessed.” 

Morgana swallowed, her eyes wide. “I don’t know. But some servants saw the guards taking Merlin to his quarters and they told Gwen. Arthur, please. You don’t know what he has in there. It’s…he’s got the most horrible things.” 

“I’m sure Aredian had his reasons for questioning Merlin again,” Uther said steadily. 

Arthur was sure he did, too, but he didn’t want Uther thinking that. “ _If_ he had any reason to question Merlin, he should have come spoken to me.” 

“I gave Aredian the freedom to do anything he needed to conduct his investigation.” 

“And he named Gaius! You didn’t give him permission to question…” 

“Torture,” Morgana cut in. “He’s torturing him, Uther. Please. He was…the servants heard…he was screaming.” 

Everything inside of Arthur told him to run to Merlin, and his hand automatically went to his sword. “Merlin belongs to _me_ , and I did not give Aredian permission to question him again. He didn’t even get your leave! What he’s doing right now is illegal.” 

Uther’s eyes narrowed, and Arthur knew that the words had hit their mark. If there was one thing Uther couldn’t abide, it was even the implication that somebody was acting in defiance of his authority. He inclined his head minutely, and Arthur and Morgana moved at the same time, rushing to the door. Morgana was in the lead at first, but Arthur quickly overtook her, racing up the endless flights of stairs and through the narrow hallways to the room Aredian had claimed for his own. 

The door refused to budge. He slammed his shoulder into the wood almost hard enough to make it shake, but that didn’t help. Morgana stood off to the side, her face creased with fear. She looked as sick with worry as he felt, but he swallowed that as much as he could. If he didn’t, it would cloud his mind. And Merlin needed him to think clearly. Merlin _needed_ him, period. 

Arthur turned to the guards. “Get this door open.” 

“How?” A guard asked. 

“I don’t care! Open it.” He didn’t add a threat, but he didn’t need to. It imbued his tone, adding weight to every syllable. The guards looked at him helplessly and then hurried away from the door, perhaps in search of a battering ram and more manpower. 

“Arthur…” 

“I know.”

“You have to get in there.” 

Arthur almost growled with frustration and tried to tell himself it couldn’t be too bad. Gaius had looked terrible when he finally made his confession, but he was an old man, and he hadn’t been physically harmed. If Aredian was just interrogating him, Merlin might not feel comfortable, but he would be okay. Right? 

“We don’t know…” 

Morgana grabbed his hand and looked at him with urgent, terrified eyes. “I _saw_ what he has in that room, Arthur. I don’t know what he did to Gaius, but I do know that he doesn’t haul that stuff around with him for fun.” 

Arthur turned back to the door, balled his hand up into a fist, and started pounding on the wood. “Open this door, by order of the king.” 

Arthur couldn’t hear anything through the thick door. Had the servants really heard Merlin screaming? Arthur shuddered at the thought, fear inching up his throat and coating the back of his tongue with something thick and bitter. He looked over to Morgana. “Stay back. I don’t know what…” 

She jutted her chin forward. “Merlin’s my friend.” 

“I don’t know what we’re going to see behind this door.” 

“I can take care of myself, Arthur. And Merlin might need me.” 

The door opened before Arthur could respond, but only enough to show a sliver of Aredian’s body. “Yes, your highness?” 

“Are you holding Merlin in there?” 

“I’m speaking to the boy. I have reason to believe that he is a sorcerer.” 

“Merlin is no sorcerer,” Arthur said between clenched teeth. 

“With all due respect, sire, I’m near to a confession and…” 

Arthur’s gaze settled on a streak of something dark on Aredian’s hand. He had been through enough skirmishes and battles to recognize dried blood when he saw it. His ears flooded with a dull roar, and he was done speaking. He reached up and shoved the door open, pushing Aredian back with his other hand. He stepped into the room, prepared to see Merlin bleeding. He was even prepared to see Merlin shaking with the force required to hold back tears. 

But he was not prepared for the sight that actually greeted him. 

Morgana followed on his heels, and he put a hand out to stop her, but it was too late. Her scream was only muffled by the hand she clapped over her mouth. It took great effort for Arthur to pull his attention away from the crying, bleeding boy on the bed, and when he focused on Aredian again, he felt nothing except rage. It wasn’t just anger. It didn’t feel like it belonged to any mortal. It was higher, purer, and it consumed him. He pulled his sword free of its sheath, and Aredian’s eyes widened. 

“Your highness, I assure you that my methods are…” 

“You had no right.” Which wasn’t what Arthur wanted to say. It wasn’t even close to what Arthur wanted to say, but in the chaotic static of noise in his head, they were the only words that presented themselves. 

Aredian opened his mouth, but he didn’t lift his arm to defend himself. Arthur considered himself an honorable man in combat, but there was no honor in that room. Without really thinking about what he wanted to accomplish, he raised his sword and brought it down again. Aredian jumped back to avoid the blade, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid it again. The sharp edge sliced across his chest, cutting through his shirt and drawing a thin line of blood to the surface. 

Aredian was speaking. Morgana was crying. Merlin was silent. And the roar in Arthur’s ears only grew louder and louder, like a deluge flooding the world. The blade sliced through the air again, connecting with Aredian a second time. The new ribbon of blood on his chest did nothing to dull the fire growing in Arthur’s stomach. He drove him back another step, his sword moving constantly. Not to kill. Never deep enough to kill. But the blood on his pants didn’t belong to him. Arthur wanted to kill him an inch at a time. 

“Arthur…” Morgana’s voice climbed higher on the second syllable, and the sound of such fear from _Morgana_ drove Arthur the final feet, cornering Aredian against the window. 

“Your highness, I can explain.”

“Fine.” 

And then…the fool opened his mouth. As if _any_ words would be enough. As if Arthur would accept _any_ excuse for what he witnessed. Arthur probably wouldn’t have spared Aredian’s life, but he might have prolonged the final moments if the man had had enough sense to keep his mouth shut. 

He never heard what Aredian had to say. He wouldn’t have heard it even if he gave the witchfinder a chance to put his thoughts to speech. Arthur stepped forward, the tip of his sword pressed to Aredian’s throat. He was close enough to smell ale on the man’s breath, close enough to feel warm blood seeping into his clothes. Aredian seemed to understand exactly what was going to happen. His eyes widened and he might have begged Arthur _don’t do this._ He might have. But it didn’t matter. Arthur gave him a hard shove, his blade buried in the man’s throat as his shoulders broke through the glass. In one fluid motion, he pulled his sword free, stepped back, and shoved. 

Aredian’s shout was wet and gargled as he plummeted, but he was probably dead before he hit the stones. 

“Arthur. He needs help.” 

Arthur sheathed his sword and hurried to the bed, his stomach roiling. _So much blood. How can there be so much blood?_ Nothing Arthur had ever seen in battle or in competition had prepared him for _so much blood_. Merlin’s eyes fluttered and Arthur realized with mounting horror that Merlin was still awake, still conscious. 

“There’s something…we need to get him out of these chains,” Morgana said. 

“Right. Go get Gaius. I’m taking Merlin to my room.” 

Morgana looked up and every unspeakable terror in his soul was reflected in her eyes. “Do you think it’s safe to move him?” 

“He can’t stay here.” 

“Gaius is in the dungeon.” 

“Then go tell my father we need Gaius!” 

“But he’s…” 

“Just go! He’s going…he’s going to die.” 

Morgana nodded and hurried out. Arthur knew that if anybody could convince Uther to bend now, it would be her. 

“Arthur.” Merlin’s eyes fluttered again, but this time he opened them. Arthur almost wished he hadn’t. They were cloudy with pain and something like hope and it made Arthur’s throat tight. “I…” 

“Don’t talk,” Arthur said, probably more for his sake than Merlin’s. He needed to concentrate. He needed to concentrate on keys and locks and chains. He needed to concentrate on the blood. He needed to concentrate on getting Merlin somewhere safe. 

Merlin groaned each time Arthur unlocked one of the cuffs. He did the arms first, and then moved to the foot of the bed. The groans increased, turning into agonized whimpers, and Arthur’s stomach churned again. It was as though there was just too much pain for Merlin’s thin body. He couldn’t stand the sound of it. It grated on his nerves and his heart and his fingers were trembling by the time he released the final chain. 

“Arthur…there’s a…my…” Merlin gestured weakly at the bleeding space between his legs, and Arthur finally saw the leather strap around his shaft. The feeling of vertigo Arthur had been fighting returned, and with it came a sort of helpless fury. He wanted to kill Aredian again. He wanted to protect Merlin from this. He wanted to do something-- _anything_ \--to take away the pain. 

Arthur found Merlin’s shirt on the floor and whispered a thousand apologies as he used the hem to wipe away the blood. Merlin lay completely still, and that almost made it worse, since Arthur could feel him trembling. When he cleared away enough of the blood, he reached for the end of the strap and gently pulled it apart. Merlin cried out and Arthur muttered a thousand more apologies. As soon as he had the nails separated from Merlin’s skin, he wrapped the shirt around the bleeding flesh. 

“What is the meaning of this? Sending Morgana to _order_ the release of Gaius?” Uther demanded, striding into the room with all the authority he had. Merlin whimpered. The rage surged inside of Arthur once again and he forced himself to take a deep breath. When Arthur lifted his head, he was staring at the bloody bed in obvious shock. “What happened here?” 

“An interrogation,” Arthur bit out. “This is how he gets his confessions. Can you really trust anything he said?” 

“Good god.” 

“He’ll die, sire. Without Gaius, he’ll die. Look at this.” Muttering yet another apology, he held up the nail-studded leather, stained through with blood. “He had this tied around Merlin’s…” 

“Gaius confessed to…” 

“He was tortured and manipulated! Nobody else in this castle can save him, sire. He’s innocent and he’s going to _die_. Please.” 

Uther held up his hand and looked over his shoulder to the guard. “Free Gaius. Bring him here…” 

“My room,” Arthur cut in. “I’m moving him to my room.” He waited until the guard left before looking to Uther again. “Thank you.” 

Something flickered over Uther’s face that Arthur couldn’t read. He looked like he was about to say something more, but then he inclined his head and turned back to the door. 

“Arthur. Are you…?” 

“I’m here.” He hurried back to the bed, faltering at the reminder of just how torn apart Merlin was. “I need to…I’m sorry, but I need to take you out of here.” 

Merlin gamely nodded, though his skin was pale and drawn, and Arthur could see the pain written in every line on his face. “Search his…search everything.” 

“For what?” 

Merlin swallowed. “I _know_ he framed Gaius.” 

“My father is releasing Gaius from the dungeon right now…” 

“Arthur, _please_.” 

“I will,” Arthur promised quickly, resolving to tear the room apart at the first opportunity. 

Morgana bustled in then, with Gwen right behind her. As soon as Merlin noticed them, his eyes widened and he turned his head away. Arthur quickly intercepted them, trying his best to block their view of Merlin on the bed, knowing it was a futile effort. 

“We brought warm water and clean rags. It’ll be easier to move him if he’s…cleaned up.” 

“I’ll do it.” 

“Nonsense,” Morgana said. “We can help.” 

“Thank you for the water, Morgana. But you need to help Gaius.” 

Morgana wanted to argue with him yet again, but this time, Gwen stepped between them. One sorrowful glance Merlin’s direction and back to Arthur told him she understood exactly why he wanted to send them away. Merlin deserved what privacy and dignity they could give him. He wouldn’t want Morgana and Gwen to see him this way. Arthur was certain of that. 

He slowly lowered himself to the mattress once they left him alone with Merlin, pointedly ignoring the bloody sheets. Arthur gently pulled away the shirt from Merlin’s groin, steeling himself for the sight. 

“Now, Merlin, like I tell my men, pain is just a distraction.” Which was a great thing to say to knights on the battlefield, but not such a great thing to say to Merlin in that second. As soon as he uttered the words, he regretted them. He wanted to apologize. But Merlin just nodded, his mouth moving like he wanted to smile. 

Arthur bit his lip and dipped the rag into the water. It didn’t really matter where he started, so he just picked a patch of skin and started to rub the blood away. It was very slow work, with Arthur pausing every ten seconds or so to rinse the rag clean. It had seemed like buckets of blood when Arthur started, but as he worked, he realized that the cuts were mostly shallow. They were fine, painful wound, but nothing that would make Merlin bleed out. 

“I didn’t know,” Arthur said, as if that could excuse the pain and his own culpability. “I didn’t know.” 

“I know,” Merlin whispered. 

“I would _never_ let anything like this happen to you, Merlin.” He looked up, meeting his fuzzy blue eyes. “I would never let anybody hurt you like this. No matter…no matter what.” 

“I know.” 

Arthur exhaled and switched his attention to Merlin’s other thigh. He cleaned Merlin’s skin, inch by inch, leaning in close so he could inspect each oozing cut. If Gaius didn’t care for them soon, they would definitely get infected. He very forcefully pushed aside other men with similar wounds, the way they cried out long after the flogging was over. The way their skin stretched tight with infection, bitter pus flowing from every crack in the skin while the fever worsened. The strongest men could be reduced to quivering children and then be gone, sometimes within weeks, sometimes days. Arthur was _not_ going to allow that to happen. He didn’t care what he had to do, where he had to go. He’d already failed to protect Merlin once, he wasn’t going to compound that failure. 

“I’m going to…I’m almost done.” 

When Merlin didn’t respond, Arthur risked looking up. Merlin was still awake, though he only watched Arthur with one eye. The other was swollen shut. But there was such trust radiating from him that Arthur felt better and worse all at once. How could he have let things get this far? More important, how could he make sure nothing ever, _ever_ hurt Merlin again? 

_It’s just like any other wound_ , Arthur kept telling himself. _It’s just like any other wound. Just get it cleaned. Don’t think about it. It’s just like any other wound._

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t, and no matter how much he tried to tell himself otherwise, it was clear that Merlin was maimed. Would be maimed for the rest of his life. He would live with the reminder forever, and how was that fair? How could that be allowed? Arthur didn’t even want to think about the (huge) potential for infection. There was only one way to fix this, and Arthur knew it. Merlin probably knew it, too. And it would have to happen soon, but before he even tried to hint at it, he would let Gaius do what he could. Maybe his trained eyes would see something Arthur’s hadn’t—something that would give a bit of hope. 

“Are you ready to move?” Arthur asked, once he tossed aside the last of the rags. 

Merlin answered the only way he could. “Yes.” 

Arthur slid one arm beneath Merlin’s shoulders and the other beneath his legs. He took a deep breath and then easily lifted Merlin’s body from the bed. _Good God, doesn’t he eat? Ever?_ Arthur decided he would be personally responsible for Merlin’s meals. He would feed Merlin by hand if he had to (a thought he would never share out loud but one he held with deep conviction). 

Gaius, Morgana, and Gwen were waiting for Arthur in his chambers, with all kinds of bandages and potions and things Arthur didn’t recognize. Gaius looked like he had aged at least twenty years, but his eyes were alert, and his face only flickered with something dark for a moment when he saw the state Merlin was in. 

“I cleaned him” Arthur said, “as much as I could. But the wounds, they’re…” 

“Thank you, sire. You did a good job.” And then he was speaking gibberish, except Morgana and Gwen seemed to understand him. Arthur took a step back, the helpless feeling returning. They hurried around the bed, cleaning the wounds again, smearing something foul-smelling across the split skin, fussing with bandages. Arthur had no place there. He was much better with the sword than he was with poultices. But the asshole was already dead, so he had no place anywhere. 

“Arthur.” Merlin’s voice was so small that it was almost lost between Gaius snapping orders and Gwen offering calm reassurances. But Arthur heard it, and it drew him back to Merlin’s side immediately. 

“What is it?” 

“Thank you.” 

Arthur didn’t have a response, except to sit on the edge of the mattress and watch the steady rise and fall of Merlin’s chest.


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin dreamed of Arthur. Blue shadows and gold images falling together in a slow dance, spinning around and around, fluttering in the air, falling, lifting up again. None of the images were solid. They rippled every time he reached for one, like sunshine dripping off of water. Merlin didn’t mind. He liked the dreams. They were warm, and just seeing Arthur was enough. He didn’t have to touch him or speak to him. He didn’t have to hear him. He didn’t even have to follow him. 

 

When he swam out of the foggy depths of his mind, he saw Arthur sitting beside him. Those moments were always the most confusing, because Merlin could not figure out how such a thing could happen. Why would Arthur be in his bedroom? And why would Arthur be there all of the time? He had things to do. _Important_ things, and the kingdom would suffer, in big and small ways, if her prince wasn’t there to attend to his duties. But that didn’t change the fact that when Merlin opened his eyes, he saw blue and gold, and he smiled a small greeting just to say _I see you. Thank you for being here._ Arthur always smiled back. 

Except the time he didn’t. 

Merlin was prepared to sink back into his welcoming dreams when the part of his mind devoted to noticing, cataloguing, and analyzing Arthur’s moods suddenly returned to its task. Because Arthur wasn’t just _frowning_. That was an event so common it didn’t merit comment, let alone special notice. His eyes were red-rimmed and his jaw was set and locked. He looked like he was sad and determined and angry all at once, and Merlin was so perplexed by this that he clung to the real world until he could solve the mystery. Had he made Arthur look that way? 

“Sorry,” Merlin croaked. 

Arthur immediately jerked his head. “Merlin? Are you awake?” 

“Seems so.” He licked his dry lips, surprised by how chapped they were. “Water?” 

“Of course.” 

He expected Arthur to gesture for Gwen or Gaius, but Arthur sat on the bed beside him and slid an arm under his shoulders, gently lifting him up. The mug he held next to Merlin’s lips was full of cool water, and Merlin would have been happy to gulp it all down immediately, but Arthur only let him swallow it a sip at a time. 

“Better?” Arthur asked. 

“Yeah. Thanks.” Arthur gently lowered him back to the bed. _Arthur’s_ bed. In Arthur’s room. “Why am I…oh.” 

“Merlin…I need you to listen to me. Can you do that? Or is your head still fuzzy?” 

Merlin frowned. “I can hear you.” 

“Not _hear_ me. I need you to _listen_ for once. All right?” 

“Yes.” 

Arthur slid off the bed to kneel beside it, leaning over the mattress to put his mouth near Merlin’s ear. “You are very sick. You have a fever. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for days. Gaius can’t help you anymore.” 

“But I don’t…I don’t feel that sick…” 

Arthur sighed. “Try to lift your hand.” 

Merlin rolled his eyes and lifted his hand off the bed. Except, he couldn’t be sure if his eyes actually moved, and his hand refused to respond. Nothing responded. His toes didn’t even wiggle. He felt as though his head had been removed from the rest of him, and he was idly floating above his body, studying it but completely unable to interact with it. 

“What…” 

“Merlin, Gaius can’t help you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I’m going to die?” 

“No,” Arthur said slowly, and Merlin could almost see him fight back his impulse to tack _idiot_ to the end of the sentence. “I’m not going to let that happen.” 

“What are you going to do?” 

“ _I’m_ not going to do anything.” 

“Well, if Gaius can’t help and you’re not going to do anything, what does that leave?” Merlin mumbled.   
“You, Merlin.” 

“What can I do?” Merlin asked automatically. 

“Merlin.” And there was so much exhaustion, so much meaning, in the way he breathed Merlin’s name that he understood. 

“I don’t know what I can do,” Merlin admitted softly. “I’m so tired and so…weak.” 

“I know. But Gaius told me…he told me that if you act now, it might be fast enough.” 

“How did you know?” Merlin breathed. “Did Gaius tell you?” 

“No…no, he didn’t have to. And that’s why I should have done more, tried harder to protect you. As soon as Aredian showed up, I should have hid you somewhere, or sent you somewhere. I shouldn’t have…I thought if I tried, it would just attract attention.” 

“Arthur…what…?” Merlin desperately wanted to finish that sentence, but he didn’t know how it was supposed to end, and he didn’t have the energy to figure it out. 

“I’m _never_ going to let anything like this happen again,” Arthur whispered fiercely, echoing his earlier promise that Merlin only vaguely remembered. Like he had said it in a dream. “Ever. I don’t care what I have to do to protect you. But I can’t…I can’t help you right now. You’ve got to do it.” 

Merlin opened his mouth, closed it, and tried again. This was probably a dream. There was no way that Arthur was saying these words to him or looking at him with such emotion. There was no way Arthur was begging him _on his knees_ to use his magic. But when he turned to say as much, he shifted his hips and pain burst inside of him, sharp and infinite. He wasn’t ashamed of the sudden tears in his eyes. They weren’t a sign of anything except that his body was not made to withstand such agony. 

“What is wrong with me?” Merlin asked, almost soundlessly. The pain was swallowing up everything inside of him, including his voice. 

“Something really bad. I’m going to tell you everything, and I’m sorry because I really don’t want to. I don’t want you to know. But you have to.” 

Merlin nodded, and listened with mounting horror as Arthur slowly, explicitly, detailed everything that was wrong with him. He reminded him of how each wound happened, told him how they fought to keep it clean and free of infection, told him how they struggled to nurse him through the raging fevers. He talked about colors that should _never_ be part of the human body, and textures, and long, long nights. He mentioned herbs and roots and potions and prayers. And when he was finally finished, he looked at Merlin so expectantly that Merlin didn’t have the heart to tell him he didn’t know what to do. 

“What did Gaius say?” 

“He gave me this.” Arthur produced a folded piece of paper. Merlin recognized it from his book. “It is…” 

“It’s a spell. But I don’t know if I can…” 

Arthur took his hand, his fingers impossibly big. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it. No matter where it is.” 

Merlin blinked, and he wished he could squeeze Arthur’s fingers back. Something moved in his chest, like he wanted to laugh and cry at once. How could he possibly use magic to heal himself when he couldn’t even touch Arthur back? How could he concentrate when the pain was so intense, so complete, that he barely wanted to breathe? 

“Prop me up, then.” 

Arthur studied him for a moment before nodding. He stood and positioned himself on the bed again, lifting Merlin so that his head was supported by Arthur’s leg. Merlin closed his eyes for a moment, simply enjoying the solid heat, the firmness of his thigh. Blue and gold specks erupted behind his eyes, swirling and dancing together to the rhythm of his heartbeat. He watched as they formed new patterns, came together, doubled, multiplied. The strange dance continued, building on itself, until Merlin saw the patterns weren’t random. 

Suddenly, Merlin knew what to do. 

“Merlin? You’re not asleep, are you?” 

“No,” Merlin said, forcing his eyes open. “Let me see the spell.” Arthur unfolded it and held it in front of Merlin’s face. “Listen to me. Then repeat after me.”

“You want me to do magic?” Arthur asked with a sharp edge of suspicion. 

Merlin closed his eyes again. “You said you would do anything. I need your help. I can’t do it alone.” 

“But I’m not magic. How do you know I can do anything?” 

_Because it’s destiny. Because I love you. Because you’re my hero and I’m pretty sure you can do anything. Because I don’t know what else to do and I’m really scared and I don’t want my prick to rot off so we’re just going to have to take a leap of faith here._

“I don’t.” He took a deep breath and began reciting the words, slowly. At first, nothing happened. There was no answering tingle of magic or response from Arthur. So he said it again. And again. On the fourth time, something inside of him stirred. It was a hot feeling deep in his abdomen, and he imagined it as a tiny, golden spark of life. When he repeated it again, the spark became two sparks. “Arthur, please.” 

Arthur’s voice was deep and gruff, but he spoke with Merlin, matching him word for word. Merlin gasped, the magic glowing brighter and brighter, sparks swirling around each other and melding. His fingers curled, and Arthur must have noticed, because there was a slight catch in his voice. But the words didn’t stop. He didn’t break off or hesitate. He chanted, encouraging the power like he gently encouraged sparks to flames when he built a fire. 

Finally, there was enough of it to use. Each syllable made it glow brighter and brighter, until it was something Merlin recognized. His fingers twined around Arthur’s, and though that was the only point of skin-to-skin contact, it felt like Arthur was running his palms along Merlin’s thighs and over his groin. Merlin’s voice grew louder and louder, until he finally shouted the spell, overwhelming Arthur’s voice. His back arched and he tensed, his muscles pulling tight. 

“Merlin! What’s…are you hurt? Is this normal?” 

“I…” He sank back to the mattress and released a shaking breath. “I need to rest.” 

“But are you…is everything…” 

“Arthur, shh. I need to sleep. Lay down.” 

“You want me to lay down with you?” 

“Need you,” Merlin admitted, too exhausted to care if Arthur truly understood or not. “Don’t go.” 

Arthur carefully moved on the bed, stretching out on his side behind Merlin. Arthur pulled him closer, letting Merlin’s head rest on his shoulder. “I never left.” 

“Oh.” Merlin smiled softly. “The dreams. Thank you. Those were nice. I’ll be fine, I promise.” 

Arthur might have said something in response, but he was already falling down into the gentle, blue gauze. 

#

Arthur rarely let himself be coaxed from Merlin’s bedside. The king could, and did, order him from his chambers, but Uther saved that for only the most essential times. Arthur didn’t think Uther particularly cared about Merlin or his son’s concern for the manservant, but he probably sensed how utterly distracted Arthur was every time he left the sleeping boy alone. He only left once of his own volition, and that was when Gaius had reported on the guards’ findings after a thorough search of Aredian’s chambers. Belladonna, which could be used to cause hallucinations, like the ones the girls probably saw. There were other little things, damning in their way, and Arthur’s rage had returned with such viciousness that nobody was safe from it—(except Merlin) least of all Arthur himself. So he’d gone out to the practice field and beat his sword against a straw dummy because his knights hadn’t done anything to deserve his wrath. _They_ hadn’t been manipulated and fooled, played with like puppets, like weak-willed children. His father’s hatred and led to blindness and now Merlin was paying and paying for that, and Arthur wished he could kill Aredian again. 

Merlin slept. It was deep and peaceful, and Gaius assured Arthur that it was just sleep. His body needed rest to recover from the trauma and infection and magic. He wasn’t unconscious or lost in some fever dream, trapped and moaning while sweat soaked his skin and the bedclothes. Since he was just resting, Morgan, Gwen, and Gaius all made the effort to return to their normal lives. Arthur was the only one who refused to leave Merlin, and so his care fell to him. Arthur dutifully changed his bandages twice a day (no longer technically necessary but Arthur didn’t want to risk it), poured sips of water down his throat, changed his shift when necessary, and saw to his other needs. It was strange serving somebody. Strange being responsible for somebody else’s wellbeing. Strange putting Merlin’s needs for a bed, for comfort, for food, so far ahead of his own. 

Arthur talked to him during the day. He talked about Camelot and Albion, about his knights and food storage and armies. He talked about hunting and patrolling. He talked about Morgana and the strange childhood they shared, equal in so many ways, but separated in all the ways it counted. And after every new thought he paused, hoping that now Merlin would wake up and offer some rejoinder. Arthur had to keep talking, because otherwise his mind would drift in the silence and go back to those three days. Those three long, horrible days, where nobody spoke and nobody slept and Merlin seemed to fade before their eyes. 

Arthur had never seen anything like it before, and it scared him, the fear running as deep as Merlin’s infection. He couldn’t begin to articulate it, and for those three days, his world revolved around a weak, pale shaking boy who fought monsters Arthur couldn’t see in fever dream after fever dream. That he woke at all was a miracle. But those lucid ten minutes, however it happened, had been enough to heal Merlin. Now he looked normal and healthy and whole again. He just wouldn’t wake up. 

_Patience_ , Gaius had counseled. _You must be patient, your highness. Merlin is no longer in any danger. He’s just recovering._

Which was great. More than great. The knowledge that Merlin would be well again soon sustained Arthur through some very bad moments. But it wasn’t enough. He wouldn’t truly _believe_ that everything was all right until Merlin looked at him with clear eyes. And even then, Arthur would probably be uneasy until Merlin was on his feet again. And the restless itch at the back of his mind, the gnawing conviction that he had failed to protect Merlin in the most unforgiveable way possible, never left him. 

A week after Merlin used the recovery spell, Uther grew impatient with Arthur. He summoned him to his private chambers and informed him that he would leave the next morning to patrol along the eastern border where there had been reports of bandits. Arthur had nodded _yes, sire_ and sent word to his knights because he didn’t have a choice, but for the first time in his life he resented the obligations he had to his own kingdom. He needed to keep all of his people safe, not just one manservant—he knew that but he didn’t really feel it. 

Chest and head pounding, Arthur trekked back to his room, wondering how he could stand to leave the castle when Merlin was still asleep. As he stepped through the door, Gaius stood in respectful greeting. 

“He hasn’t stirred, sire.” 

“Thanks. Clear your schedule for the next three days. I want you to stay with him while I’m gone.” Arthur shrugged out of his jacket. “I’m going on patrol.” 

“Uther is sending you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Merlin will most likely be awake by the time you return.” 

Arthur hummed in response, knowing Gaius was only trying to help. Arthur didn’t want Merlin to wake while he was gone. He didn’t want Merlin to ask for him (and Arthur never doubted for a second that Merlin _would_ ask for him) only to be told that Arthur was away. After sitting in wait for so long, he didn’t want to tack on another three days of not knowing. His men would be the ones who suffered for Uther’s impatience. 

“Would you like me to stay, sire?” 

“No, that won’t be necessary.” 

“I’ll make sure Gwen stops by later.” 

Arthur nodded, though Gaius didn’t need to remind Gwen to visit his chambers. She came in once a day, fluttering around to straighten the room (which could never stay clean for longer than five minutes as though Merlin’s very presence was enough to create chaos), check on Merlin, keep Arthur company, and make sure the kitchen sent up his dinner. 

As soon as Gaius was gone, Arthur crawled into the bed and pulled Merlin into his arms. He wanted to do that every day, but he never indulged himself, convinced that Merlin would heal better if Arthur wasn’t pawing at him like a self-indulgent prat. He’d pulled Merlin’s cot from the antechamber into the bedroom and slept on that instead, but today was different. Today was the last day, and he _needed_ Merlin to wake up. 

Arthur had a routine at this point, and he methodically went through each step, his hands moving down Merlin’s body as he examined him. The swelling on his face had gone down, and there was the hint of a yellow bruise coloring his cheek, but it probably wasn’t even sensitive anymore. Arthur traced the ragged edges of it with his thumb, not surprised by how smooth Merlin’s skin felt. His body was no longer a mystery to Arthur. He knew every inch of it, and he was sorry for that. He wished his intimate knowledge had come from giving Merlin pleasure, rather than from sewing him back together again, washing him, changing bandages.   
The inspection continued down Merlin’s body to his bruised neck. Like his face, the colors had faded until there was just the stain of yellow. The urge to kiss Merlin didn’t often overwhelm Arthur, but when it did, he always pressed his lips to Merlin’s throat. The bruise from the kerchief had developed into an usual shade of red, owing in part to Merlin’s nearly translucent skin, and Arthur’s attention had been drawn to it often. Especially since Merlin’s chest was so curiously untouched. Arthur had broached the subject with Gaius once, knowing the physician had perhaps understood Aredian better than anybody. Gaius had suggested that perhaps there’d been some unknowable method of Aredian’s madness. That seemed plausible to Arthur, as there had been many, many torture devices on that bed, but only the whip and the strap had been used on Merlin. (After Arthur searched the chambers, he ordered everything in the room be burned. What couldn’t be burned, he put in a bag and buried somewhere far from Camelot. While Merlin’s blood burned and his body desperately, futility, fought the infection, Arthur dragged Aredian’s behind his horse to the distant fields where he left it for wild animals to pick at. It was disrespectful and maybe a little childish, but it did help. A little.). 

The wounds below his waist were nothing but scars now. Merlin hadn’t been able to magic away the marks, but he had been able to cleanse himself of infection, and the discolored and black flesh—the parts of Merlin had literally already died—had transformed back to something pink and healthy. It was the same every time Arthur checked, but that didn’t stop him from checking at least twice a day. 

Examination complete, Arthur settled with his back against the headboard and pulled Merlin against him. He felt like a bird, all skin and hollow bones. He’d already been too skinny, and now Arthur was sure his own clothes would be too big for him. After he woke, Arthur wondered, how long could he keep Merlin in bed? Eventually, Merlin would insist that he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself and he would want to get back to their normal lives. Which felt so far away, Arthur wasn’t sure _how_ to go back to that. But they would, sooner or later. 

Arthur dropped his head back and closed his eyes. He was tired, but not in any way he understood. He’d been physically exhausted too many times to count, and he appreciated the way his body felt after a good ride or a hard fight. He’d been mentally exhausted after hours and hours of boring council meetings and arguing with Uther and even arguing with Merlin. But this was a deep emotional exhaustion that had no precedent, and the hour of sleep he caught when he could never even touched it. 

He wasn’t sure how long he slept, or even if he slept at all, but when he opened his eyes again, Merlin was staring at him questioningly, his cheek still resting on Arthur’s chest. 

“This is very strange,” Merlin said. 

“It is,” Arthur whispered. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like I’ve been asleep for a hundred years.” 

“It hasn’t been quite that long,” Arthur said, resisting the urge to possessively tighten his arms around Merlin’s thin frame. “More like a week.” 

“I’ve been sleeping for a _week_?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” 

“Gaius said you needed your rest. After…well, after everything.” 

“Everything…” Merlin suddenly tensed, struggling to break free from Arthur and sit up. Arthur grudgingly relaxed his arms. “Is everything…it doesn’t hurt.” 

“The infection is gone and the wounds have closed.” 

“The…magic?” Merlin tried. 

“Yes.” 

“I thought I dreamed that. I mean, you were…you knew and you helped and I thought…it must have been a dream.” 

Arthur shook his head. “No, that happened. And I’m very glad it did because…well, because.” 

“Where is everybody?” 

“Working.” 

“Why are you…” Merlin paused, frowning. After a moment, his frown cleared and he pushed himself in a seated position. “You were always here. You never left, did you?” 

“Not if I could help it. I was…” Arthur’s automatic defenses rose up, prompting him to lean back slightly, wipe the hopeful smile off his lips. Merlin noticed the difference in him, and his face barely registered the change, but a slight drawing in of his brow was enough to catch Arthur in the middle of pulling away. He wasn’t going to do that. Even if it felt natural—even if it was natural. This was _Merlin_. He didn’t need to hide himself from Merlin. And after the events of the past ten days, what was there left to hide? “Really scared.” 

“You’re never scared.” 

“I was this time.” 

“It was that bad.” 

“It’s…it’s a miracle. And…I should have stopped him sooner. I should have protected you, even if it meant keeping you by my side until he left. I should have fought harder to defend Gaius. I should have been better.” He hadn’t meant to, but every declaration became an apology. 

“Arthur. You didn’t know what he was doing. And you _did_ come for me. You saved my life. Twice. What more could anybody ask of you?” Merlin asked the question with such perfect sincerity, as though Arthur really _had_ done everything humanly possible and then more on top of that. 

“Why didn’t you use your magic to stop him?” Arthur blurted, giving voice to the question that plagued him from the second he saw Merlin chained to the bed. 

“I couldn’t. I wanted to, but…I couldn’t.” 

“Why? Did he stop you somehow?” 

“No. But…if I used magic at all, I would have to kill him. Otherwise, he would simply tell Uther that he had something better than a confession. And if I killed him, then everybody would be suspicious because, well, I’m not exactly known for my strength and skills as a fighter. Besides, I was chained to the bed for most of the time.” 

“But if you killed him, you could have escaped Camelot.” 

Merlin didn’t respond. 

“You could have been free of him and easily avoided my father,” Arthur pressed. “He would have never had the chance to…I mean, everything he did to you.” 

“It doesn’t matter now. It’s over with.” 

“It _does_ matter, Merlin. I expect an answer.” 

“Are you ordering me?” 

“If I have to.” 

Merlin exhaled softly. “I couldn’t kill him because I couldn’t…I could never leave Camelot. Or you.” 

Arthur would like to say that he was surprised. But he couldn’t. He’d seen Merlin run into danger too many times, take too many serious risks, act with a complete and utter disregard for his own safety. All for Arthur’s sake. Every time. Even when Arthur caught him using magic, it was never for anything practical for himself, it was always because of Arthur. 

“Arthur, is my…I mean, is everything…I’m scared to look.” 

Arthur felt the beginning of a smile. “You can look. It’s scarred. But other than that…everything is attached and as it should be.” 

Merlin tentatively lifted the sheet and studied himself for several long seconds. Finally he muttered, “I’m a freak.” 

“You’re not a freak.” 

“Look, I don’t know if you’ve seen…” 

“I’ve seen it all Merlin.” 

Merlin coughed. “Right. Well then, you know what I mean. I’m all…I mean, it’s all…nobody’s going to want to…not that anybody does now. But still. Does it…I mean, does it work?” 

Now Arthur had to bite back a laugh. His fear wasn’t funny, Arthur knew it. The whole situation was far from funny. But he was going to lose it. “As far as I know, it still works. And Merlin, I promise you, there’s nothing wrong with it or you.” 

“Nothing except the permanent scars.” 

“What does that matter?” 

“I’m not you, Arthur. You’re the prince and you’re beautiful. You could have all kinds of weird things going on with you, and the girls wouldn’t care,” Merlin said forlornly, still staring at his groin. 

“You think I’m beautiful?” 

Merlin’s head snapped up, and his eyes rolled up as he replayed the last few seconds of their conversation. “Well, obviously I meant that in a…there’s not really any way to recover that, is there?” 

“I think you’re beautiful, too.” 

Merlin blinked like he couldn’t have been more surprised if Arthur boxed his ears. “Far be it from me to question you, sire, but I’m rather…not.” 

“You rather are,” Arthur corrected. “And you’re not allowed to question that.” 

“Because you’re the prince?” 

“No, because I…” _Because I know you better than anybody now._ But that seemed presumptuous and likely wrong. Besides, maybe Merlin didn’t want or need the reminder that there were essentially no clear boundaries between them anymore. He’d nursed Merlin to health, and Merlin helped him bathe, and they ate together and traveled together and sometimes shared each other’s clothes. And no matter what else happened between them, they would always have this understanding, this _knowledge_ of each other, that nobody could else could possess. “Yes, because I’m your prince.” 

“You are, you know.” Merlin licked his lips. “Mine.”

_Yeah, no kidding._ “What do you mean?” 

“Just that. You’re mine. That’s why I couldn’t leave you and why you helped me with your magic.” Merlin smiled nervously. “Not that I think you belong to me or anything. It’s just that…just that…” 

“I’m yours.” 

“Yeah, that.” 

“No, I was telling you.” He cupped the side of Merlin’s face that wasn’t bruised, his thumb caressing the skin with the pad of his thumb. “These past ten days have been hell, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that my life belongs to you. When you were in danger, everything I had was meaningless if it couldn’t help you. Everything I _am_ is meaningless if I can’t protect you. Also, that means you _do_ belong to me.” 

Merlin snorted. “You’re so arrogant. What if I don’t want to be one of your possessions?” 

“You don’t really have a choice. Sorry.” 

“You’re not sorry.” 

“You’re right. I’m not. But…” Arthur dropped his hand, his skin immediately missing Merlin’s. “That doesn’t mean I expect anything from you or that you…things can go back, you know, to how they were before. If that’s what you want. I’m certainly not going to force anything, you know.” 

“You’re not going to force me into anything? You’re just going to treat me like I belong to you and protect me from harm?” 

“Yes.” 

Merlin’s lips twitched. “How is that going to be any different from before?” 

“It’s different,” Arthur said with certainty, though he couldn’t explain how it was different, and he hoped Merlin wouldn’t ask. 

“Arthur…” Merlin leaned forward, touching his forehead to Arthur’s chest. His hair tickled Arthur’s chin and his breath was hot through the thin linen of his shirt. “You’re an idiot.” 

“What?” 

“But I’ll say it if you can’t. Or if you don’t know how.” Merlin kissed him through his shirt, and his voice was muffled. “I felt you kissing my throat. I felt you taking care of me. I know your mouth, and your hands, and your breath. I know when you’re cross and when you’re only pretending to be cross. And I know that you were scared. “ 

“How?” Arthur whispered, staring at the top of Merlin’s dark head. 

“I love you.” 

Arthur’s chest constricted and it wasn’t so easy to breathe. He hadn’t been expecting that. Maybe he should have been? He hadn’t been expecting anything. His tired brain was still trying to catch up with the fact that Merlin was _awake_ and Merlin was _talking_ and Merlin appeared to be fine. Just himself and nothing more or less than that. But then the silence stretched too long, and Arthur realized he needed to say or do something. So he wrapped his arm around Merlin in a familiar embrace and pulled him close. He wished he could wrap his body around Merlin’s. Wished he could be the shield that he knew Merlin didn’t really need. 

#

The three-day patrol (and Arthur had sworn even before Merlin had asked that it would _only_ be three days) turned into a five-day trip, much to Merlin’s general frustration. Gaius would not let him leave Arthur’s chambers, even going so far as to threaten a guard being placed at the door (how he would manage that, Merlin hadn’t cared to ask). So he rattled around the space that was far too big and too empty without Arthur, feeling strong and weak at the same time. He ate steadily, rebuilding his strength a pound at a time. He slept soundly in Arthur’s bed. He forced himself not to think about his dreams and he spent hours watching the courtyard from Arthur’s window. 

Merlin had been annoyed and a little upset when Arthur told him that he would need to leave the morning after he woke up. But the small respite had been good, Merlin realized, once his thoughts started to fall into some sort of order. Arthur needed the space, too, of that Merlin had no doubt. He’d been driving himself mad with his vigil over Merlin, and getting out of the castle was absolutely the best thing for him. He needed to ride, he needed to laugh with his men, he needed to kill a few bad guys, he needed to experience the world again. After that, he would be himself again. 

Merlin didn’t want Arthur to take everything back. He didn’t want Arthur to tell him it was all a big mistake, that everybody would start saying crazy shit after ten days of little sleep or food. But…people did say crazy things when they were sleep-deprived and hungry. His illness had clearly taken its toll on Arthur, as well as Gaius, Morgana, and Gwen. When they looked at him, something flickered in their eyes—a dark memory they would have rather locked away forever. Merlin didn’t blame them. If he could do something to help them lock it away, he would. Merlin just wanted everything to go back to normal, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing would until _Arthur_ went back to normal. Which meant no more confessions heavy with guilt, and no more cuddling on the bed, and no more looks full of sadness and curiosity. 

When he heard Arthur’s party clattering their way into the courtyard, Merlin’s heart surged and he ran to the window without thought. Arthur was below him, talking to the boy who had raced up to take his horse’s bridle. Merlin almost smiled, imagining the litany of careful instructions for the care of his horse (instructions he didn’t need to give because anybody who even had a passing acquaintance with the stables knew _exactly_ how to care for the prince’s horse), and Arthur chose that moment to look up. When he saw Merlin was watching him, his mouth pulled into a wide smile that reached his eyes. 

Arthur’s first stop would be the council room, where he’d provide a full report to Uther, adding an eternity to the five days Merlin had already been forced to endure. Merlin had a plan. He intended to show Arthur that he understood anything said in the previous two weeks—including the words Arthur uttered while Merlin was still unconscious—was said under a certain amount of duress. If he had to. He’d accepted that was probably the reality of the situation, though it wasn’t like Arthur to just change his mind and also he had smiled. A smile that Merlin was quite sure Arthur had never bestowed on him. 

Merlin was a little excited and a little nervous and he couldn’t really say why. He was always excited when Arthur came home from a long journey—right up until the second Arthur opened his mouth and delivered his long, long list of tasks he’d created during the journey home. He didn’t want to scrub the ceiling, but he wouldn’t be entirely sorry if Arthur ordered him to. He would know what to do with that, unlike the strange promises and heavy silences Arthur had left him with. Merlin hadn’t even known what most of them meant, like Arthur was speaking in some strange code that he expected Merlin to know somehow. 

There was one other option. One that didn’t include anything related to normalcy or loud commands, but might have been full of whispered promises. Merlin shivered a little to think of it. It might have been an impossibility, but certainly stranger things have happened between them. Arthur not only knowing about, but calmly accepting his magic among them. 

When Arthur finally walked through the door, Merlin forgot _everything_ he’d been considering. Everything. His mind was wiped clean of all the extraneous problems and concerns—everything that wasn’t Arthur’s solid, physical presence simply ceased to exist. Which wasn’t actually unusual at all, but the sudden force of it was something new. 

“Merlin.” Arthur stopped short, his narrowed eyes taking in every detail. “How are you feeling?” 

“Great. Gaius has essentially locked me up here like a princess in a tower, but other than that, I feel great.” 

Arthur waved a hand. “Don’t be too hard on him. He was only acting on orders.” 

“ _You_? You told him to do this?” 

“Of course. Where do you think he got the guard?” 

“You can’t just treat me like I’m your prisoner, Arthur.” 

Arthur looked mildly pained at that. “I know. I’m sorry. I just wanted to know you’d be safe.” 

“Yes, I suppose keeping me under lock and key is one way to do that,” Merlin said bitterly. “I’ve been going crazy up here. Gaius wouldn’t even let me go pick flowers.” 

“I _knew_ it.” 

“What?” 

“You pick flowers. You spend hours wandering around to pick beautiful bouquets.” 

“Well, of course I do. They don’t pick themselves, Arthur. You notice any fresh flowers around here?” 

Arthur actually looked around the room, his frown deepening. “No.” 

“There you go.” 

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have done it. But I thought you would still be recovering and…” 

“Five days, Arthur!” 

“There was some trouble.” 

And Merlin’s attitude changed as fast as that. He forgot he was supposed to be angry (arrogant prat) for being kept under lock and key so quickly that he didn’t even feel the residual annoyance he usually did when it came to Arthur. “What happened? Are you hurt?” 

“No, I’m not. Everybody’s fine. We just had to track the bandits further than we planned. They were clever. Liked traps.” 

Now Merlin was crossing the room, prepared to help Arthur undress. “Traps? What kind of traps? Are you sure you’re not hurt?” 

“I’m sure. It’s just a few scratches.” 

Which tended to be code for _I’m lucky all my limbs are attached._ When he saw how deep the so-called scratches went, he was just relieved that there were still vials of salve and bandages in the room. 

“Sit down. I’ll get this taken care of.” 

“Merlin, you don’t have to do that. I thought we could…” 

Merlin looked up, surprised by how close Arthur’s face actually was to his. Thought they could what? Talk? Cuddle? Fuck? Sleep? All of it? Everything? Was there anything they _couldn’t_ do? 

“This is what we do first. Sit down.” 

Arthur didn’t argue with him. Just took his seat in his chair, legs splayed before him, shoulders heavy with exhaustion. He probably hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in over two weeks now, and Merlin wanted to fuss at him in all the ways Arthur hated. He wanted to fuss and take care of him and make sure he was healthy and happy and answer to all of his needs and make sure he wanted for nothing. 

“Merlin, I didn’t say it earlier but I meant to and…” Arthur broke off, looking confused, as though he didn’t actually intend to say anything out loud. 

“You might say it one day,” Merlin said, sniffing at a bottle Gaius had left on the table by the bed. It was sour and minty and Merlin thought it probably was what he needed. “But you don’t need to. Now tell me what got a piece of you.” 

Arthur’s face cleared and he sat a little straighter, prepared to run down every single detail. Merlin hummed at the appropriate times, asked a few questions that Arthur didn’t actually need to prod him along, and looked at his handiwork with satisfaction. When he glanced up, he saw the same satisfaction mirrored in Arthur’s eyes.


End file.
